Phoebe in Wonderland Continued
by IsleWrite
Summary: It has been a year since Phoebe was diagnosed with Tourette syndrome. Although she understands her odd behavior now, it doesn't make life any easier. Phoebe is currently eleven years old and entering Middle School. Despite therapy and medication, her obsessive rituals are worsening. Hillary and Peter argue on a daily basis and Phoebe blames herself.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is inspired by "Phoebe in Wonderland", a film by Daniel Barnz. I do not own any of these characters._

Chapter 1

Phoebe Lichten stood with her back against the caramel brick building of their school. She stood alone, a backpack weighing on her hand as she kicked the heal of her shoe into the pavement. Her friend Jamie, now exceeding her in height, passed her on his way to the bus.

"You coming?" maple brown hair hung in his eyes.

"My mom's getting me now."

"Why?"

"Because."

"You can't tell me?"

"I said because."

"Alright then. See you when I see you," he lifted a stiff hand before running off.

Phoebe watched the Red Queen in the window. Jamie spat his tongue at her before waving for a second time. She returned the gesture with a grin on her face. After the bus left, Hillary pulled up in their blue minivan. Phoebe sat down in the passenger seat, throwing her backpack at her feet.

"Did school go okay?" it had been her first day of sixth grade.

"It was okay," Phoebe mumbled. Hillary's eyes scoped the profile of her daughter.

"Is that all I get?"

"That's all you asked."

Today, she had a session with her therapist, her reason for not taking the bus. Jamie knew she had therapy, but Phoebe didn't like to talk about it. When she was in Elementary School, her sessions were later in the day. Now, she had to go straight from school. It wasn't the best time, and Phoebe typically wasn't in a good mood at this hour. She liked her therapist; a woman with a pixie cut called Mrs. Avon.

Today, Phoebe hadn't much to say. Mrs. Avon asked her how she was doing, but Phoebe didn't answer right away.

"Phoebe?"

"Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe," Phoebe could feel her face turn scarlet. She tapped the blue rug with her heel, her eyes on the ground.

"Are things okay at home?" No answer.

Mrs. Avon decided to speak to Hillary instead. The former asked about her medication, if any obsessive behavior had worsened, and what home life and school looked like. Mrs. Lichten thought she knew the cause; Middle School, hormones, her father's absence, and on top of that, her Tourette's was bothering her more than ever. Medication hadn't completely banished her ticks. She was completely aware of them before, but even more so now, and she felt self-conscience, especially in a new environment. And whenever Hillary tried to talk to her, Phoebe would completely shut her out.

"Phoebe can you grab that—Phoebe!" Hillary was left in the dark on the driveway with two paper bags of groceries in her hands, unable to pick up the third.

She managed to turn the knob of their garage door and push it open with her shoulder. Before she could place the groceries on the counter, the telephone rang.

"What's wrong with Phoebe?" Olivia asked, but just as Hillary picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

Olivia stood in an olive green vest and kakis, asking who it was. Hillary held up a one minute finger.

"Who? Oh, yes, we'll be there on Thursday. Okay, bye—help me put these away. Where's your father?"

"Out. He left ten minutes ago."

"He left you alone?"

"I can handle myself for ten minutes. He knew you'd be home soon."

"Yes, but where did he go?"

"I don't know—aren't you going to ask me about fourth grade?"

"Oh…." her eyes wandered, "How was it?"

"We didn't learn anything significant, but our new teacher was born in Germany. Isn't that cool?! Why would he come to America when he has Germany? He still has an accent."

Hillary hardly listened, but she did hear Germany and teacher. Her mind was preoccupied with many things, but as usual, Phoebe was at the forefront. Olivia knew it.

"Phoebe is in her room. I'm gonna watch a show before dinner."

"Wait, what about homework?"

"Don't have any."

"Is that rabbit out of his pen?"

"Phoebe has him."

After Hillary set a pan of water to boil, she went upstairs. She entered Phoebe's black room. The girl hadn't turned any lights on. Phoebe cradled her white rabbit, a Birthday gift she had received just last month. Her Wonderland obsession hadn't died, nor had Hillary's. She called her bunny White Rabbit.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Hillary switched on a light before sitting on the bed, "Did something happen at school? Is—is it your father and me?"

Phoebe stroked the rabbit's forehead with one finger. She sat cross legged on the floor. Her head turned to the window, where she could barely make out the moon. Hillary said nothing more, she only wondered and waited. Her eyes were tired. They always looked tired.

"I was embarrassed," Phoebe said at last.

"What—why?" her hand sunk into Phoebe's floral comforter. The other she placed on her thigh.

"I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't stop repeating my teacher in class."

"But, I'm sure they understand that you can't help it," Hillary stood from the mattress and kneeled beside her. "Is there anything else bothering you that you want to talk about?" Phoebe shook her head, her eyes glancing sideways to the ground.

Hillary swept blonde hair from her face and kissed her forehead before leaving, "I love you."

Olivia had been standing in the hallway. Hillary didn't talk to her nearly as much as she did with Phoebe, but Hillary didn't do this on purpose. Olivia knew her sister's struggle, but she couldn't help but envy her.

"The water was boiling so I put the pasta in," Olivia stood erect, waiting for her appraisal.

"What would I do without you?" Hillary passed her as she spoke.

She was satisfied with her mother's reply, but she was hoping for a kiss on the forehead.

_Pretty PLEASE leave a review with your HONEST opinion and let me know if I should continue. I will post chapter three if I know there is an interest._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hillary Lichten completed her dissertation on 'Alice in Wonderland'. But Alice and Wonderland were still very much alive in the Lichten home. Olivia ridiculed the story by Lewis Carrol. She stated more than once that it gave her the creeps.

"Wonderland is scary and confusing. Why would anyone want to end up there?" Phoebe slapped her.

"Phoebe!" Hillary crouched by the front porch steps, potting a plant.

"Sorry!" Phoebe was sincere.

Olivia scowled as she rubbed her inflicted arm. Both were sitting on the lawn plucking grass.

"I'm bored," Phoebe's long legs were sprawled out in front of her. She wore yellow pajama bottoms and black rain boots.

"You could help me."

"They're just going to die in two months. You're wasting your time."

Hillary rolled her eyes.

"Where's dad?" Olivia asked.

"Who knows? He never…." Hillary's voice shifted as she lifted a large bag of potting soil, "tells me."

"Were you fighting again?"

"What? You heard that?"

"I didn't say I did. So you were?"

"Don't worry about it, Phoebe—hey, why don't you and Olivia get dressed and we'll go get some lunch," Olivia jumped up and pranced to the door. "Oh, and put your pajama's in the hamper, not on the floor!"

Phoebe walked steadily, her father's old shirt sagging on her small frame. Hillary stopped what she was doing to watch her daughter's expression. Phoebe trudged up the steps and let the screen door slam behind her.

"I want Daddy." she grumbled.

Hillary took them to a small café. They sat by the very large window that overlooked the street. The waitress slouched with a clipboard press against her stomach.

"Coffee for me."

"Coffee, coffee, coffee—coffee."

"Phoebe?" Hillary waited for her to choose a beverage.

"Phoebe, Phoebe." she eyed her mother, her face flushed.

"Um, and two hot chocolates. Thank you."

"I don't want hot chocolate," Olivia was blunt.

"I'm sorry—we can change it," turning to Phoebe. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

Phoebe nodded. She began searching every face there. Were they looking at her? Did they hear her? She began squirming in her seat. She tapped her boot against the floor, preoccupied with everything but her meal.

"Phoebe?"

"I need to go to the bathroom. Is there a bathroom?" She stood and meandered around tables.

After pushing the door open, she shouted. The tiles were the size of building blocks. She tiptoed on each individually to the bathroom sink, which took at least nine minutes. Phoebe wet her hand and dabbed her face, meanwhile eyeing the soap. But she decided against washing her hands. It had almost not been a choice for her, like it had been in the past. She tiptoed back, another eight to ten minutes. Hillary was just about to go check on her before she appeared.

"You sure you're okay? We can leave now, if you want."

"I'm fine."

Just as they were finishing up, Phoebe watched the window. Hillary went to the counter to pay and she and Olivia stood by the door. Phoebe thought she saw a familiar face. It was a woman, and she passed the café, a black umbrella in her hand. The golden hair was braided round her head like a small wreath.

"Miss Dodger?"

"Who?" Olivia's eyebrows furrowed.

The bell rung by the door as Phoebe pushed it open. Hillary took a double glance.

"Wait—Phoebe!"

Meanwhile, Phoebe strode the sidewalk, her eyes on the golden head and black coat. But Miss Dodger began running.

"Wait! Miss Dodger! Wait!" her voice was coarse.

Phoebe crossed the street to the second block. She called out once more. Miss Dodger heard her, and paused beside a tea shop. The woman glanced at her wristwatch, and then back at Phoebe.

"Miss Dodger."

Miss Dodger squinted her eyes in contemplation.

"It's me—it's Phoebe."

"I know. I remember. Alice. Can I help you?"

It then struck her that she had absolutely no idea why she bolted after her.

"I—no. I just saw you—and."

"And wanted to see if it was actually me," she smiled. "Well, it is nice to see you are doing well. I'd love to chat with you, but I'm late for work."

"Work?"

"Yes, I work at the tea shop," she gestured her hand to the brick building.

"Oh—I'm sorry. I don't know why I—yes, nice to see you're doing well, too."

After a second smile, Miss Dodger stepped inside. The sky began to drizzle. By this time, Hillary was across the street hollering after her.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Hillary couldn't help but notice how withdrawn Phoebe had become. She wasn't quite in reality, but she wasn't out of it either. And she hadn't gone to Wonderland. She couldn't bring herself to, even though she wanted to.

Middle School didn't have a theatrical program, so Phoebe didn't engage in any extracurricular activities.

"I think it would benefit Phoebe if she took up a sport or activity outside of the classroom. She needs an outlet where she can express herself," Mrs. Avon told Hillary and Peter Lichten at one of their weekly meetings.

"No—no Phoebe isn't athletic. I don't see how she can express herself by kicking or throwing a ball."

"I just feel she is burrowing all these emotions she doesn't know how to control or cope with. If she took an art class, or, say, ballet, either one has a way of bringing out that emotion. Her focus is on what she is doing, which relieves tension and ticks. I feel she is more comfortable outside of the classroom, and this would enable her to make more friends. She needs a carefree atmosphere with children her age."

"Where things aren't so fixed," Hillary mumbled this to herself, but Mrs. Avon heard her.

Phoebe had been waiting in the hall. She tapped her heel and observed the picture on the wall in front of her. It was a strange painting with colorful squares on the right and grey squares on the left. All were contained within a circle. The average mind might see this particular piece of art as meaningless, but Phoebe somehow appreciated it. The meaning was simple for her. The left side was reality and the right side was Wonderland. She associated almost everything with Wonderland. It was understood when Hillary was writing her book. She thought Phoebe did it to get close to her. But Hillary began to think her daughter had taken her obsession too far. She thought Phoebe wanted nothing to do with the real world, and absolutely everything to do with Wonderland.

"Do you think we should force her?" Hillary glanced back to make sure Phoebe wasn't listening. She wore earbuds, but she could hear them.

"Not force her. We won't have to force her."

"Yeah, I think we will. She's lost interest, Peter—she doesn't want to engage in anything. Why do you think she mopes around every day? Why do you think she doesn't want to make any friends? Her only interest is that rabbit—that rabbit and Wonderland." Hillary whispered now.

"Okay, then we'll force her."

"I don't want to force her."

"So you think we should let her continue moping in seclusion with built up emotion?"

"I'm not saying that—did I say that?"

"If we let her do what she wants, that's the outcome."

Hillary combed her nut brown hair from her face with her hand.

"I just don't—I don't want to upset her."

"How do you know it will upset her?"

"It might."

"It might not."

"Peter! Let's just talk to Phoebe, first, before we make assumptions."

"Did I start the assumptions?"

"We both did, alright?"

"Stop!" Phoebe tugged on her earbuds and tossed her iPod on the seat. She didn't exactly know what they were talking about or why they spoke of forcing her, but she did know they were arguing, and they were arguing about her.

Phoebe left abruptly from the car, as became her habit. She bounded the staircase and went to her bedroom. For a time, she lay on her bed almost lifeless, her face planted in the blankets. White Rabbit began gnawing at his cage. It was then when Phoebe bounced up to gather him in her arms. She remained in her room for an hour on the floor with her pet against her chest. She kissed and petted him. He soothed her. She had her arm around him and her cheek pressed against his. Both thoroughly enjoying this.

When she finally left her bedroom, she went to the kitchen. Phoebe took an ornamented, orange glass plate and set it on the counter. Hillary was in the process of chopping up celery and carrots. Phoebe went to the fridge and took out a bag of kale and a container of lettuce. She washed each and she separated them on the plate. Peter stepped in as she was arranging.

"Why can't they touch?"

"Because," Phoebe took three carrots from the wooden cutting board and set them between the kale and lettuce.

She created a circle. It looked like the painting outside her therapists' office. After, she brought it to her rabbit and watched him eat.

"You should know that by now," Hillary said when Phoebe left.

"How? I'm not with her at every meal."

"You're not with her at all."

"Because she doesn't come out of that room," Peter took Hillary's arm, "Yes, I know I'm not home as often as I should be, but it's for the better."

"Is it? Will we ever solve anything if you keep leaving? Go to her, Peter—go to your daughter and ask her about school—about anything. Ask her how she's feeling—watch a show with Olivia. Help her with her homework," her eyes quickly filled with tears, "Before the arguments, Peter, you were never home." Hillary watched as her husband left out the back door.


End file.
